ROCKETS AND RETREATS

“I think I need to go on a retreat,” I whispered into a mug of lukewarm tea. It’s probably not a typical thought for five-minutes-before-a-wedding. But it was a thought, and it slipped into my head, and then tumbled into the mug, where nobody else could hear it.

I’m a musician, and on this particular occasion I was waiting, with the band, for the church to fill, and the bride to arrive before we started playing. The lukewarm tea had been given to me some time ago and I was gripping it between two cold hands.

A retreat. Would it help me stop feeling so heavy? It occurred to me that the best time for such a thing would be the Easter weekend. I could get three days in, that way. The Intrepids won’t be around at Easter (they’re still tickling Komodo dragons I think) either. And I doubt that my sisters will want me hanging around.

But then, where do I go? And how? And would it be okay to duck out of playing on Easter Sunday? Would Rory be alright with that? Plus it’s only a few weeks away. And I famously spent all my holiday money on council tax.

The bride arrived. We all stood as she walked to the front. I’ve often thought that getting married is a bit like launching a space-rocket - a lot of preparation goes into it, everybody gets together to cheer and take photographs, and for a short, dangerous, exciting time, every eye is hopeful, perhaps even certain, that it will make it through the stratosphere and shoot for the stars.

I’ve seen some sadnesses, some grounded astronauts, and some platform failures. As melancholy as it is for someone who wished they’d had a chance, it must be twice as hard if you already survived a short-lived flight, and yet you still keep getting invited to Cape Canaveral.

Don’t misunderstand me: that isn’t what’s making me feel heavy at the moment. I think I need some sort of retreat because I reckon the next season is going to be hard work and I want to be ready for it. And as part of that, I have to find a way to ditch the heavy anticipation of what’s coming. That pendulous feeling is there in my atmosphere and it’s not doing me much good by hanging around.

I could go camping - just for a weekend. That’s cheap. It could also be freezing. There might be something in that though - an opportunity to connect with the raw elements and feel alive. It could be an adventure, especially if I go back to the mountains. Just me in a tent, under the stars, listening to the night.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the bride and groom!” said Gareth as the happy couple beamed down the aisle and out of the church. It had been a great launch, and I found myself praying that that gravity-defying spirit would pull them through, wherever their trajectory might take them. It seemed like an awesome celebration of overcoming heaviness. And that can only be a good thing.